Adventure Magazine Cover — page 20: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Io Pete arrived in town at eleven o’clock at night. His foot was swollen frightfully, while the burro had wilted. He first per- suaded some one to drag the tottering burro to a corral and then sought a bed in a “hotel”? over a dance-hall, where even pain failed to break his exhausted slumbers. It never occurred to Pete to disturb the doctor at that hour. That sort of thing might be done by a tenderfoot; but Pete knew that the doctor was available only in case of mortal gunshot wounds. The doc- tor had plenty of night practise at that. Next morning Pete presented himself be- fore the bewhiskered medico. His foot was bathed in smelly drugs and bandaged, after which the doctor sold him a crutch, gave him some terse directions and shooed him into the world again. Old Pete limped over to a wooden curb is front of a dance-hall where he took a morose swig of Jones’ Infallible Elixir. Later he took another dose. After still another jolt he hobbled into the dance-hall for some of the real stuff. Nothing is more disillusioning than a dance-hall barroom at mid-morning. Gone are music, dancers, horse-play and the sway- ing of colorful humanity. The clean, bright morning sunlight mocks bleared faces, headaches, hangovers and the odor of stale beer. Old Pete hobbied to the bar and took a generous portion of fighting spirit to cheer his lonesome soul. Along the bar two tall, square-faced, black-mustached bullies were talking. Both had guns and prominent cartridge-belts, both wore high-topped boots with spurs, and both had broad-brimmed hats. The one-with his back to old Pete was by far the more impressive as he wore silver trimmings on his holsters and a fancy brown-and-white cowhide vest that was quite the niftiest thing in town. Pete was soon all attention. The im- posing person was Jed Hill, king-pin of all the scoundrels. Pete did not know him personally; but the leader turned and Pete was forced into immediate acquaintance. “Howdy. How’s things up in your country?” “Oh, all right, I guess.” “T hear you struck it rich.” Pete was almost floored, but he did not show it. His emotions were schooled in a Adventure land where a display of emotion was not advisable. He kept a poker face. ‘Sounds good. Where did you git all that?” “Oh, somebody blabbed. It’s all over town.” “Huh! It’s funny how people know more about my business than I do myself.” “Yeh. Ain’t it. Let’s see—you’ve been working over in the Jaguar Range east of here, haven’t you?” “No. I been workin’ the country north- east-by-south of here.” “Oh, all right. Go to the - The big gang-leader deliberately turned his back. The old prospector’s red face purpled. He hobbled out, sat down, and muttered toward the hitching-racks in front of the porch. “T hear you struck it rich,” came a voice alongside him. -Old Pete did not deign to look up. “Go to the ——,” he snarled. 99 A FORM in tattered corduroys slid Ew’ to a sitting position beside him. eeN Pete turned and looked into the wrinkled face of an old crony, a white- headed, tobacco-stained senior desert-rat who had crossed Pete’s trail often through the years. “Oh,” said Pete, extending a hand. ‘Lo, Mike. How’s things?” “Oh, so-so. Just got into town yistiday. They said you'd struck it rich.” “That’s good news. Who told you?” “YT disremember. It’s all over town. How about it? Will it be time to celebrate a bit?” Old Pete shook a doleful head. “Vou’ve got it all twisted.” és ly The newcomer lighted a pipe, taking his time. “T thought mebbe you’d made a strike. Still, if you did make it I'd not blame ye fcr keepin’ your mouth shut.” | He looked about cautiously. “Tt’s no time to be findin’ a good claim 11 this country. Still, if the divil was to give me a little luck and send me a good claim, I’d know what to do.” | Pete also filled his pipe slowly, betraying no curiosity. “What would you do?” “T’d go down to San Francisco.” 1 “Yeh. .And git your claim jumped.” COmiclbook CO